Secret Places
by RenaRoo
Summary: Tim Drake goes missing. The search to find him begins. [Character Death]


anonymous prompted: Hello! I have an angst war prompt if you are interested! Tim is killed by one of the rogues in his apartment and the body isn't found for a month. Cue the batfam feeling inconsolable guilt over the fact that it took so long to even realize he was gone. Bonus points if Jason finds the body! So glad you're doing this angst war btw, I absolutely adore your writing!

I mostly went off prompt a bit here. The original intention was to make it, I don't know, more manageable in the angst department. I … I may have done the opposite. But Anon, you just brightened my day with your compliments. That's sincerely just too sweet. Thank you, and I hope you like it.

Batman and related properties © DC Comics  
story © RenaRoo

 **Secret Places**

Cassandra waits at the Berlin airport with her tablet and headphones.

Tim had helped her download an app - a phonics and reading game. She pops the bubbles that complete the sentences in the box hanging precariously over the ocean. It doesn't make much sense, but each time she is correct the game was set to repeat the words and couplets of letters so that she can identify them better.

She is on level 50 before she puts the game away and pulls her legs up into her chair.

Her plane had landed hours ago. Tim's was supposed to have landed, but it is delayed.

After she buys some gum, she chews an entire wad she and waits by the window.

Tim was to have landed in London five nights ago and "check on things" before completing a flight to Germany. That was the plan. Tim was always particular about his plans.

When the flight lands, Cass hurriedly comes to the gate and watches each and every person unload.

There is no Tim.

Quickly, she calls his phone. Waits a moment before recognizing the voicemail. She tries again only to get the same response.

By the second landed flight from London hours later, Cassandra uses her phone to dial another number.

The Network begins searching desperately for Timothy Drake-Wayne.

* * *

The time stamp is from two weeks ago. It's ten in the morning. Tim's flight is at eleven thirty. He speaks briefly on his phone - company phone, the records have already been pulled and the transcript recorded by a combination of Cassandra's skills with body language, Barbara's rendering of the footage, and Alfred's enduring resolve to act as communicator between the fractions of the family - he then drops the phone to his satchel's open pocket.

Tim, like he has the last twenty-seven times Bruce has watched the security camera recording, walks back out of line after collecting his ticket and seems to be looking to his watch. He is in some kind of rush.

Bruce's son leaves the camera's scope with no subsequent bizarre behavior, no signs of being trailed, and no shadow figures behind him trailing after.

The time stamp continues on, but Bruce is not interested.

He rewinds again.

* * *

Searching is exhaustive and it's only exasperated all the more by the fact that they all know they're far, _far_ too late to be able to recover a fresh trail.

Tim has all but vanished and Dick isn't certain what to make of it.

There is oddly no evidence of his brother not boarding the plane, as his tickets and hotel rooms were all expectedly paid for by Wayne Enterprises weeks in advance, and what people they can track down from either the flight or from the hotel report that they didn't take notice of an absence.

Which means nothing during the busy winter season.

Someone boarded the plane. But they have no evidence that it was Tim. And it's driving Dick mad.

Two weeks into the search and he is the first to enter Tim's apartment since the police got involved.

Gotham's Batman overturns every piece of furniture, runs his hands over every surface, checks every electronic for signs.

He enters the bunker beneath the building and prints out a log of all activity within the facility.

The last access before Dick's trespassing was the day Tim disappeared.

* * *

The third week is something of a stalemate.

International disasters are being handled but the Justice League, the Titans, the Teen Titans, and so on. They need all hands on deck, and they don't receive them. There are messages - lengthy ones - concerning Spyral and Leviathan and beyond from the Batmen around the world. But the Network's international server is only running tracing programs.

Allies leave them, scorned and angry, but it's not even a question among their ranks on whether they are doing the right thing or not.

Because it's Tim.

And everyone has something they've got to say to him, when they find him. Too much, it seems, has been allowed to slide with the former Robin. Too many things unsaid. Too many things unapologized for.

* * *

"I don't regret becoming Robin."

Stephanie covers her flank, as it's obvious that Damian isn't about to. There's only been three or so Bats patrolling the city each night while the others search.

No one _wants_ to patrol while one of their own is missing, but too many people means cluttering the real searches. And Damian's one of the few who doesn't resist being put on patrol duty.

Batgirl is one of the few who doesn't take offense to that.

"You shouldn't, I never did," Stephanie replies crisply before executing a takedown.

Damian is quiet as Stephanie begins to tie up the would-be assailants. His face is flushed, and Stephanie knows him enough to gather it's not from the workout.

"I don't know if I believe Drake's actually in danger," Damian huffs at last. "It's not as if this is new behav-"

He stops as the Batarang hits the trashcan directly to the side of his ear. Damian locks eyes with Stephanie, but she doesn't back down even with his obvious disgust.

"This isn't like Tim," she says slowly. "When he's left before, it has been with reason, and there's always been _someone_ in contact with him. This? This is vanishing. And Tim has too many people around and alive right now that he cares about for him to not try to stupidly be there and try to keep them from getting hurt."

It makes the young Robin bristle. "That's not stopped Drake from leaving before," he says thickly.

"This is different," Stephanie replies flatly.

 _"How?"_

"It just _is,_ Damian!" she snaps. They stand in the alley quietly for a moment, Damian's shoulders tensed and face carefully guarded. Stephanie rubs her eyes. "I'm sorry, Robin," she says. "I know you're upset, too."

He doesn't argue. Damian merely takes off for the rooftops. Stephanie reluctantly follows.

* * *

Jason walks into the bunker just as the console is crushed beyond repair.

"Dick, I'm sorry -"

 _"Sorry_ hasn't brought my brother back home!" Batman spits out before turning the heavy chair over. "And don't tell me for an _instant,_ Wally, that you've not had time to look more! I know what your damn schedule is with the League!"

Raising a brow, the Red Hood looks on.

On the monitor, the Flash raises his hands and shakes his head. "Okay. You're being _unreasonable_ right now. The League's been calling in everyone - even reserves - and I've been at the top of the list. I get that you're stressed, and I know why. Tim's a great kid and we all want to help. You can call me when you _actually_ want me instead of just wanting me around to be your punching bag. Later."

The screen goes black and Dick stands, stock still, as he stares at it.

Without any warning, he releases a frustrated scream and turns over the control stand.

"Okay, that's enough," Jason yells, rushing over to Dick's side and yanking him away from the delicate technology. "That's _really_ going to fucking help out, Dick. Replacing computer monitors won't' take any time. Good job."

Dick yanks himself away from Jason and whirls around on him, an ugly snarl on his face. "Just what are you doing here!?"

"Relieving you," he snaps back.

"Piss off!"

"No!"

They stand silently for another moment before Dick takes a shuddering breath. "You didn't even like him," he says venomously.

Jason narrows his eyes. "You don't know anything about how I feel," he reminds his brother darkly. "Just maybe it's enough to me to not want another dead Robin. Maybe the little punk impressed me. _Maybe I'm just being a nice guy and helping out._ But one thing I'm not doing is _losing it_ on people who can help us."

"Because you don't care as much!" Dick growls.

They keep quiet for a moment more, Dick lowering his head and deepening his breaths. Calming down. Jason standing squared to him, radiating with anger he's waiting to unleash.

"I have to know what happened to him," Dick finally says.

"We might never know," Jason reminds him of the bitter truth.

"Then I'll never stop looking," Dick replies, looking tiredly at his younger brother. "And I'm not going to lie, Jay. Not knowing could kill me."

Jason's guts twist at how true that statement is.

* * *

Ra's eyes narrow. Bruce stands strong.

"This was all rather foolish, Detective. And I expected better from you," Ra's says crisply.

The chamber is dark, Ra's himself in less formal attire than usual. His cloak rests over his lap. He seems quiet and drawn. Disappointed in something other than Bruce.

"You are in mourning," Batman growls out.

His own words make Bruce scream beneath the armor of Batman. It is confirmation of things he refuses to accept - will never fully be capable of accepting.

"Yes," Ra's says lowly. "Of potential lost. Of a worthy adversary proving to not be so worthy."

Batman lowers his head, lets out a shaky breath. Beneath the rush of air is a quiet no he won't allow escape. He looks up again, determined.

"I need everything you know, or else I will _destroy_ what little claim you have left in this world, Ra's. Completely."

"Earn your stripes, Detective," Ra's snaps back.

 _"This isn't a game, Ra's! This is my son!"_ Batman screams.

The words linger in the silence that follows. The Demon's Head shifts, eyes narrowing even further.

"The only thing you need to know, Detective, is that you have my once-heir and I have taken your revenge for the death of the son you owe your return to," Ra's responds sharply. "The assassin is dead. So is Timothy Drake."

* * *

Cassandra has checked every city Tim could have gone between Gotham and Berlin based not the flight simulations Barabara's Network ran. She combed both Berlin and London the hardest, pressed allies at each location for information.

There is only one thing Cassandra knows about her brother's disappearance - it has something to do with Gotham.

When it finally is time to come home, every broadcast channel, every station, is running the press release from WE and its favorite son, Bruce Wayne, as he pleads the public to report any information on Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

Cass stands and watches, feels her stomach turn at her father's exasperation and pain.

He lies and says they are looking to see Tim come home safe and alive.

The only reason Cassandra is coming home is because their family is mourning at a private funeral tonight. One without a body.

She will tear the city apart looking for one, as they all will, but not tonight.

* * *

"Please understand that this is not a request," Barbara says, listening to the buzzing filter of Oracle's voice across all hero channels, "do not come to Gotham to mourn the passing of Red Robin. There is a city wide block off to all heroes until the end of the week. For his family to recover in privacy."

She takes a breath, removes her glasses to rub angrily at her eyes. "And, like always, _any_ information will help us. There is still no… no _corpse."_

Without further elaboration, she flicks the recorder off, buries her face into her hands.

* * *

Alfred takes Bruce's arm and lifts him off the floor to the best of his abilities, sagging slightly.

"I wish you had gone to bed after the service, Master Bruce," Alfred utters before managing to get his son to the cot and resting him upon it. "We are _all_ drained."

"Ra's would've kept Tim's body if he knew where it was," Bruce breathes out as he's forced onto his back. "He didn't know either. Alfred… how. How did this happen. How did… did I lose…" He squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenching.

"You're shaking from dehydration, Sir," Alfred says remorsefully, moving to the sink to make a glass. "Please take care of yourself." He turns back and holds the glass out to Bruce. "My heart will never withstand finding you collapsed on the ground again."

Bruce seems to look almost past the water, completely unfocused. "I've… _I've lost my son,_ Alfred…"

Taking a breath of his own, Alfred lowers his head, the tears he thought had long dried up at their private service return in full force. "As have I, Sir…and it seems so much more."

* * *

"You and your big secrets," Jason says, sitting by the passage, taking a breath. "No, really, you little shit. You had a secret, lead enforced, hidden cupboard in your hidden base."

He stares across the room at the found secret place that he would have _never_ located with purpose. If he hadn't had an emergency, if he hadn't just happened to kick over the bottle of alcohol and realize there was a space where the liquid was seeping through.

Jason puts his head in his hands, wonders how long it'll take for someone to answer the emergency beacon he turned on. Probably not long, given his location is the one place they've all avoided after turning it over in the search and leaving it bare.

The Red Hood is shaking. he flexes his hands a few times, tries to return feeling to his numbed body.

There is a feeling of relief. There is the complete dread of now not having hope.

There will be an autopsy. Jason's not sure who will conduct it. It won't be Bruce, no matter how much he might have demanded it a week or more before this discovery. Jason prays it's not him or Dick. Hopes maybe Leslie is willing.

"You had no idea how much we love you," Jason mutters from across the room, shaking his head. "But I hope… I hope you had a _clue."_


End file.
